In the Light of Madness (5 page)

James Dolby opened the door, his face speckled with stubble and his hair desperately in need of a brush. George sensed the oppressive and airless atmosphere as soon as he stepped inside.

Dolby led him to the kitchen where he switched on the kettle in an automatic action.

“I’ll make it,” said George, wishing to feel useful in some way as he suspected that spiritually, James Dolby was beyond help at that moment in time.

“My wife’s in bed. The doctor gave her a sedative.”

George nodded. “And how are you holding up?”

“I’m living in a nightmare that I’ll only wake up from when Tom walks through the front door.”

George nodded again as he poured two cups of tea.

“The whole community feels your suffering, and God is reaching out to embrace your pain—”

“Don’t talk to me of God. What God would allow such an atrocity to occur? I am too full of pain and anger to accept God’s so-called love.”

George did not blame him and knew that part of his role was to mop up the out-pouring of grief. God would have to take a backseat for a while.

The next time George looked at the clock on the buttercup yellow wall, he saw that he had been there for an hour and a half. The kitchen table was covered in photograph albums and school certificates, mapping out the short life of a much loved son.

He was contemplating an appropriate way to depart when the doorbell rang. James Dolby eased himself out of the chair and shuffled to the door; he’d aged twenty years over night, thought George.

Wednesday and Lennox were standing at the door. Dolby stood to one side to let them in just as George was heading out.

“I should leave you to get on. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said as he squeezed passed the detectives, nodding at them as a parting gesture.

The detectives could see the remnants of Tom’s life littered across the kitchen table, but there was no time for sentimentality.

“Were you aware that Tom wanted to join a rambling club the reverend was trying to set up?” asked Lennox, glancing at Tom’s school photos.

“Yes,” he nodded. “The reverend had a keen interest in Tom as he thought he was a good example to other boys with his good manners and all that.”

“Did the reverend see much of Tom then?”

James frowned at Lennox. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”

“We’re just trying to piece together Tom’s habits and the people he interacted with. We’re building a profile of him.”

Dolby’s shoulders drooped and his head dropped forward as though his neck could no longer support it. “He attended church with us every Sunday. He also spent time at that Darren’s house much to Emily’s disapproval, and he saw the reverend occasionally about church matters or the rambling club. Tom liked to be helpful to others.”

“Church matters. What would they be exactly?”

“The reverend wanted Tom to be an altar boy, but he was worried that word would get out, and that he’d be bullied at school for it.”

“I see,” said Lennox, brushing his hand over the top of his head, intertwining his hair through his fingers.

“Mr Dolby, I read your son’s notebooks and he seemed to be quite an angry boy.” Wednesday looked directly at him and tilted her head. “Do you have any idea what that was about?”

“Just teenage angst, I imagine. I don’t know what he had to be angry about.”

The nineteen fifties style home for starters, thought Lennox to himself. Wednesday seemed to hear his words and chastised him with her eyes.

“Did you or your wife have many arguments with Tom?” she asked.

“No more than any other parent I shouldn’t think. Why, are you accusing me or my wife of killing our son?” His voice vibrated with an undertone of anger.

Wednesday stuck her hands out with the palms down, indicating the need for calm. “Mr Dolby, we sometimes have to ask painful and difficult questions, it’s part of our job. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

Dolby slumped into a kitchen chair and buried his head in his hands. “I just want this intense pain to go away. I feel so powerless.”

Lennox tapped his foot lightly. “Mr Dolby, can you think of any incident where Tom complained of being bullied, harassed, or frightened by someone in or out of school?”

Dolby shook his head, and spoke into his hands, muffling his words. “Although my wife doesn’t want to admit it, he had changed somewhat. He was less . . .” he searched for the right word. “He was less affectionate towards us.”

Lennox thought the word “affectionate” was an odd way to describe a teenage boy. Even his parents, who were both psychologists, never referred to teenage boys in such terms. He remembered many intellectual arguments between his parents. His mother took a systemic viewpoint, whereas his father preferred the Jungian standpoint.

“Would you like the FLO, Janice, to come and stay with you? She would be someone to talk to whilst your wife is sedated.”

Dolby shook his head slowly. Lennox tried to hide his disappointment. Parker may have got more information out of him.

The detectives showed themselves out and headed back to the car.

They had only reached the end of the road when a call for assistance came in from DS Arlow. They were in a potentially volatile situation with an aggressive Des Wright. Wednesday radioed in that they were close by and on their way. Lennox put his foot down.

Chapter Five

Approaching the front door, they heard Des Wright’s enraged voice bellowing at the officers. Lennox decided that knocking first was not a pre-requisite, so they marched straight in to find the commotion coming from the kitchen. The sound of splintering wood ripped through the air.

Both Wednesday and Lennox braced themselves. To Wednesday’s surprise, Lennox’s voice became the dominate force in the house.

“Mr Wright, what exactly is going on here?”

“What the fuck? How many more of you are needed to take me away?” His face was puce and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

“I’d rather not waste my time taking you anywhere, unless you’ve hurt an officer,” Lennox replied in an even tone as he glanced around to check on his colleagues. Everyone appeared fine albeit on high alert. Stillness descended on the group while an electric tension coursed through the air. Broken pieces of chair lay scattered around the floor.

“These fuckers think I’ve done something to Darren,” he blasted, pointing at Arlow and Damlish with a nicotine stained finger. “Just because I said I didn’t care for him much and because of these bruises,” he pointed to under his chin and his hands, “which I got outside the bloody pub.” His face glistened and his eyes darted from one officer to another.

Wednesday and Lennox noticed green and blue tinged marks on his arms, too. They could see his jaw muscles twitching but at least the glare in his eyes was subsiding.

Wednesday turned her attention to Judith Wright who was sitting impassively at the chipped Formica table, hands trembling and the broken thread veins on her cheeks and nose glowing brightly.

“We’re doing everything we can to find your son,” said Wednesday, sitting down next to Judith. “You must be feeling very anxious.”

“She don’t feel nothing. Alcohol has dulled her senses,” interjected Des without a nuance of compassion. Judith looked up at him with her bloodshot eyes, but said nothing.

Lennox advised Des that he could either finish answering the questions there, or he could do it at the police station. He said it in such a way that Des knew he had no choice.

Wednesday noticed holes and dents in the walls and doors. If she was not mistaken, they were battle scars of domestic violence. She felt a rage brewing in her gut. “Would you like us to move to another room whilst they talk to your husband?”

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you. Just ’coz you have a posh suit and hair trussed up like a ballet dancer doesn’t mean you’re better than me.”

Wednesday was stunned by Judith’s ascorbic words whilst subconsciously touching the loose tendrils around her face; she wondered whether Judith was masking her fear of Des behind a barrage of insults. Before she had the chance to process her thoughts, Des began shouting again.

“There’s fucking four of you here. Who’s looking for Darren?”

Lennox tapped his fingers on the table and took a deep breath before addressing the irate man. “Mr Wright, I must ask you to stop swearing at us or you’ll be arrested. Now there’s a team out searching for Darren with sniffer dogs. He hasn’t been forgotten about.”

Des leant against the wall and stared out of the window, the redness in his face fading.

“Now so far, nothing has been found untoward on his laptop and I understand his mobile is switched off,” said Arlow, visibly more in control of his emotions. The dark circles of being a first-time father hung heavily below his eyes.

The detectives finished their interview, collating names, dates, and times relating to Darren. Judith Wright watched their every move with her bloodshot eyes.

Back at the station, the phones were incessantly ringing with people reporting sightings of Darren, all of which had to be sifted through by the indexers, Suzy Simmons and Audrey Smith. Thus far, none of the sightings had resulted in a positive outcome.

DCI Hunter was sitting in his office, rubbing the back of his neck when he saw Wednesday and Lennox return. He beckoned them into his office with a wave of his hand.

“Bring me up to speed,” he said, tension cramping his neck and shoulder muscles.

Wednesday took out her notebook. “Forensics’ preliminary report indicates that Tom Dolby was asphyxiated by smothering. They’ll give us fibre clues later. No signs of sexual assault.” She looked up to see that Hunter was still listening. “Tom’s mother is sedated and his father is distraught. No obvious evidence of foul play in the home . . .”

“That’s as may be, but we need to bear in mind that the victim often knows their killer. We must consider that someone placed an anonymous phone call and laid the body down with care,” interjected Hunter, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Someone close to him.”

Lennox ran his hand over his hedgehog-like hair. “We’ve just come from Darren Giles’s home. The stepdad was getting wound up by the journalists outside his house. He has a temper and fresh bruising on his neck, arms, and hands.”

“So why hasn’t he been brought in?” Hunter’s tone was not easy on the ear.

Wednesday could feel her neck going red and instinctively put her hand to her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lennox remaining cool and collected in the face of adversity.

“There’s insufficient evidence that he’s done anything wrong, sir. And besides, Darren fits the profile of a runaway.” Lennox’s voice sounded composed as he spoke.

Wednesday fidgeted in her chair which caught Hunter’s attention.

“Did you have something to add?” he asked her.

“Only that Reverend Olong seems to be keen on setting up a club for the local youths. And he apparently had a special interest in Tom.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “You’re not pointing down the route of child abuse and the clergy are you?”

“Not particularly, especially with no signs of sexual assault. I was just highlighting facts. Also, there may be a case of domestic violence at the Wright’s, but I need to see whether previous reports have been logged.” Wednesday sat back in her chair and began tapping her hand on her knee.

“So the only thing linking these two boys together is some semblance of friendship, the same school, and an interest in joining a rambling group. That’s not much to go on.”

The room fell silent until Hunter slapped his palm on the table and announced he wanted them to dig deeper at the school. The detectives rose and left Hunter as he began to make a phone call. Lennox followed Wednesday to her cluttered office, which he found visually uncomfortable.

“Are you always that nervous in front of Hunter?” he asked.